


Honor Returned: Book 1

by Blue_Sunshine



Series: Honor Returned [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Children in War, Enemies to Friends, Fire Nation Royal Family, Gen, Home Guard, Kidnapping, Order of the White Lotus, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Politics, War, Yu Yan - Freeform, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, fire sages - Freeform, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 20:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sunshine/pseuds/Blue_Sunshine
Summary: Zuko isn't cruel, but he has a duty to his people, and a desperate desire to return home.What if he had actually succeeded in capturing the Avatar? What would he have done then?





	1. Chapter 1

_Ow._

His head hurt. Like, really hurt, and he didn’t feel like he’d gotten any sleep at – _Oh no_! He’d fallen asleep!

Aang jerked upright and his head hit something hard. “Ouch!” He winced, bringing his hands up to cover his poor skull – or, well, trying to. The chains made that kind of difficult…chains. Aang gulped, finally taking stock of the situation. His feet where shackled together, his hand tied behind his back, his arms bound to his sides, and there was some kind of gag over his mouth. Not in his mouth, he’d definitely have noticed _that_! But covering his mouth. He could breathe okay, but he didn’t think he’d be capable of bending with his breath with that in the way.

Aang wiggled, testing, but the chains didn’t budge. He was in a heavy wooden crate of some kind, like a cage more than a box, not exactly roomy, and it was covered with a dull tarp.

 _Uh oh._ He thought. _Not good._

What happened?

He remembered….he remembered laying the trail of Appa’s fur, and walking through the deserted town, wondering what happened to the people there. A bronze bell was tonging in the breeze, almost mournful. He’d sat down to wait. He was watching the sun set – he was so tired, he just wanted to sleep. And then, and then…had he fallen asleep? He remembered staring at the sun, and then he thought he’d heard something, maybe saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye…but he didn’t remember turning to look at it. Argh! His head hurt so bad!

Where was he? Where were his friends?

~

Zuko couldn’t believe his luck. Almost didn’t believe it. He was never lucky. Never. So he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for bitter, cruel fate to come crashing down and snatch his prize from his shaking, desperate hands; all the while, some dusty, half remembered part of his heart was fluttering wildly, sending trills of electricity through his weary body. His heart kept pounding, and his blood rushed.

  _I’m going home!_

And he couldn’t quite bring himself to ruthlessly quash that trembling hope, for fear of the crushing disappointment when he failed to bring it into fruition, _again_. He had the Avatar!

He still couldn’t believe it.

He’d been rummaging for supplies in a long-deserted ghost town when he’d looked out a broken window, tattered drapes still fluttering in the breeze, and seen him just sitting there, in the street, at the end of a trail of bison fur, and what was that about?

He’d been shocked into stillness, not believing, convinced he’d finally snapped under pressure, that he was hungry and dehydrated and hallucinating, but the apparition remained stubbornly there. Sitting in the street, not twenty yards away. Zuko had crept out the back of the building, and made his way around, behind the Avatar, who was watching the sun go down, drooping, his eyes fluttering, his head sinking down, bobbing, finally coming to a rest on a skinny chest.

_Did he just….fall asleep?_

The scrawny airbender certainly looked exhausted, face wan, eyes bruised. Zuko hadn’t dared waste the chance, he’d pounced, bringing the hilt of his sword down on the Avatars bald head, and feeling maybe a little guilty about it later, once he’d had him trussed up and slung over the back of the ostrich-horse.

Zuko had put a ground-eating pace on and didn’t dare look back, not stopping until he’d reached the coast. Once there, he’d slid off his cranky and exhausted ostrich-horse, surrounded by trees and the ocean, checked on the unconscious Avatar, and then fallen down, shaking and exhilarated and stared at the stars until the sun tipped back over the horizon. He allowed himself that much, and then got to work.

He only had a vague idea of where he was, but he wasn’t really concerned about being discovered. The southern edge of the Earth Kingdom was largely abandoned, and there wasn’t another township or village for miles. The coast was empty.

Zuko had lead the ostrich-horse back away from the shore and to a small, freshwater stream running through the woods, letting it drink deeply. If he traveled by land, it would take more than a week to reach an inhabited port, and he’d have to pass by the city of Gao Ling, not to mention its outlying villages, which meant people, and people were trouble he didn’t need, not now that he _had_ the Avatar.

But if he built a raft, and Uncle had shown him how to build one that wouldn’t fall apart – a solid bit of knowledge that saved their lives at the North Pole – he could reach a port in mere days with favorable currents. All he had to do was keep between the Southern Coast of the Earth Kingdom, and the chain of islands that ran a few miles off its edge, between the Air Temples, the Neutral Islands, and the Fire Nation itself. If he couldn’t find an Earth Kingdom port, he’d hit the fishing villages around the Kyoshi Islands, or, depending on the current, skate past them and land on Whale Tail Island, which would definitely have ships heading to the Fire Nation.

 _Home_.

With a plan in mind, Zuko checked on the Avatar – and the angry bruise on the back of his head, tied him to a nearby tree, and went looking for suitable logs.

It had worked. It wasn’t easy, nothing ever was, for him, but it had worked. More or less. They’d arrived on Whale Tail island in one piece. Even if the raft had been in a smaller piece upon arrival than it had been upon departure. No matter. They were both still alive.

“We made it, Avatar!” Zuko had smiled, even as he ducked away from his unhappy, sopping wet ostrich-horse as it hissed threateningly at him. He rather liked the ill-tempered animal, and gave it an extra helping of grain and grubs once they found a market-place.

It had been three days – he’d hit a very…um…maybe favorable wasn’t the right word? The current had been faster than expected, or maybe it was the storm winds, but they’d reached Whale Tail Island in great time. Zuko was still growing concerned. The Avatar hadn’t woken up. The swelling had gone down, and the bruise had darkened, but still the scrawny airbender dozed. Zuko was torn between letting him stay that way for convenience sake, and trying to rouse him. He’d managed to dribble some broth down the boys throat, and the Avatar swallowed, but it was pitifully little.

So, Zuko had managed to barter passage on a merchant vessel bound for Shu Jing, acquired a suitable cargo crate to stash the Avatar in, and then, more assured than ever that he would reach home, went back into the market for smelling salts and supplies.

When he returned, the Avatar was already awake.

~


	2. Chapter 2

Zuko untied the straps, lifted the tarp that covered the crate, and startled to see grey eyes staring back at him. “You’re awake!” He smiled. Spirits, it felt good to smile. New, hopeful.

The Avatar glared at him. Er…right.

“You were unconscious for three days.” Zuko explained, smile sliding off his face as he studied the airbender and tried to determine just how angry the Avatar was. Glowering brows shot up in surprise, or alarm, and Zuko hesitated.

“Look,” He said. “I’ll take that gag down, so you can talk, and eat – you _must_ be hungry – but if you start bending at me, I’ll set this crate on fire. Understand?” Zuko inquired flatly.

Round brows scrunched back together, but it seemed more like…confusion, or displeasure, than outright anger. Zuko could work with that. The Avatar nodded.

Zuko reached in to remove the gag, and paused. “And don’t bite me, either!” He ordered. Grey eyes rolled. Zuko loosened the gag and tugged it down. Immediately, the Avatar exploded.

“What happened? Where you the one chasing us? Where are my friends? Where’s Appa? Where am _I_?”

Zuko sighed. “For once, _I_ wasn’t chasing you. You just…showed up. I captured you, and we’re on our way back to the Fire Nation.” He explained. “I don’t know what happened to your friends, or your ten-ton flying monster. How’s your head?”

“Appa weighs six tons.” The Avatar replied mulishly. “And my head _hurts_.”

Zuko snorts. “That’s because I hit you really hard. I just didn’t think I hit you _that hard_. You probably have a concussion.”

“That sounds bad.” The Avatar said warily. Zuko shrugged. Concussions were tricky, some were harmless, and some were fatal.

“You hungry?” Zuko asked. The Avatar nodded, perking up a little.

“I’m starving.” He nodded. “And thirsty. I was asleep for a whole three days?”

 _Aaand he just bounces back._ Zuko thought wearily. He didn’t even seem that concerned about being captured.

“Wow. That’s a lot.” The airbender said. “I slept for a whole hundred years once, but I don’t remember it. It didn’t feel like sleeping.”

Now that? Made Zuko’s head hurt. Most things involving the spirits did, and that? That was definitely the spirits getting involved. So he didn’t think about it. Instead, he went about setting up his little cookpot, glad to be on a Fire Nation vessel, even a merchant one, where he could firebend freely. It made cooking so much easier. He heated up a ration of rice and broth, and grabbed a spoon.

“I’m not a baby!” The Avatar yelped. “I can feed myself!”

“I am not untying you.” Zuko growled.

“Why not? It’s just so I can eat.” The Avatar wheedled. He looked _so_ innocent.

Azula could look like that too. Zuko scowled. “I don’t trust you.”

“Oh.” The airbender wilted, and Zuko dipped the spoon in broth, trying not to dwell on that crestfallen expression, and the memory of _do you think we could have been friends?_

“Um…” The Avatar pulled back a little, when Zuko lifted the spoonful of broth towards him. “I don’t really…”

“It’s vegetable broth. And tofu.” Zuko explained. “You’re a vegetarian, right?”

Wide eyed, the Avatar nodded. “Yeah.” He sounded rather surprised.

Zuko lifted the spoon.

~

The journey to Shu Jing from Whale Tail Island would take, at best, nearly two weeks for a vessel of this nature. It just didn’t have the same power or speed as a Navy vessel. The best ships went to the war. Honestly, Zuko was lucky it wasn’t made of wood. No firebender was perfectly at ease on a wooden ship, but fishermen and merchants grit their teeth, steadied their nerves, and went out on them anyway. They still had to make a living.

Zuko paid for his passage in labor, taking shifts with the boiler under the watchful eye of a mechanic, and, since he had brought a beast of burden along, mucking out the shipboard stable. Zuko slept in the cargo hold next to the crate that held the Avatar, but his ostrich-horse was penned in with two others and a flock of chicken-pigs.

He carefully made his way back to the hold with a large bucket of water in his hands, walking slow and steady so as not to spill any as the ship rocked in the waves. He was covered in sweat, and soot, and little tufts of chicken-pig down, and he was really, really looking forward to cleaning up. He’d have to do something about his tunic too. It was getting pretty ripe.

Of course, if he was longing for a good scrub, the Avatar was probably in dire need too. Zuko had washed his own clothes before setting out on the raft. Not of the mind to untie him and peel him out of his shirt, the most the Avatar had gotten was a good dunking in the ocean, and half a day of sheeting rain.

Spirits, Zuko was fortunate the boy hadn’t drowned. That all of them hadn’t. He shuddered at the thought, and reminded himself to leave an offering the next time he saw a shrine.

Zuko stepped into the hold with a small slosh of water, and allowed himself a small, relieved smile. Things were actually going well.

A sniffle, and a hiccup, and Zuko froze.

Three sharp breathes, and a sob.

Zuko’s shoulders sank, as he realized Aa- _the Avatar_ , he reminded himself firmly, was crying.

With a sigh, he carefully set the bucket down, and then dithered until another pitiful bout of sobbing made him cringe. Dropping into a crouch, he undid the ties on the tarp and then knocked lightly on the crate. A sniffle, and a few hard, deep breathes as he tried to stop crying. Zuko gave him a moment.

“Yeah?” Came the watery, thin reply. Zuko winced a little, hesitated, and finally pulled up the tarp. All caution and reason said he should have left the Avatar gagged, but he’d been restless at night, and his lips were chapped, so Zuko left him a jug of water and a straw this morning and left the gag down.

“Are you…um…is there….ah….” Zuko trailed off awkwardly, questions half asked because the answers where apparent. No, the Avatar wasn’t okay. Of course there was something Zuko could do, he could let the Avatar go, _only he couldn’t_! So.

The Avatar watched him blankly for a moment, and then his lip quivered, and fresh tears poured free of red rimmed eyes, and his whole face crumpled as he cried, burying his face in his knees.

“I-I-I d-don’t want –“ hiccup “ to be kept b-b-barely alive…” _What_?! “I m-miss my f-f-friends –“ another hiccup “I miss Monk Gyatso!” He cried harder, shaking all over, and Zuko…panicked. Quietly.

 _The hardest thing about being born over a hundred years ago…_ Zuko remembers. He’d thought about that. A lot. The world wasn’t the same. The Air Nomads were gone. And everyone he’d ever known… _I miss my friends._

_Do you think we could have been friends?_

Zuko ran his fingers into his hair and squeezed, curling in on himself, frustrated and confused and trying not to _think_.

 _I have to take the Avatar to the Fire Lord. For my honor! For my_ people _!_ But…

He’d been to the Air Temples, to _all_ of them. There were prayer rooms in the Southern Temple where the bones lay as high as his knees. Meditation pools in the Eastern whose fountains were frozen with tar from the ashes.   _Nurseries_ in the Western where fire had seared the walls hot enough to melt the glass-tiled murals. Even the high peaks of the Northern, reclaimed by Earth Kingdom villages who had buried the dead, scrubbed clean the stones, and cleared the waters were marked by the great bones of slain Sky Bison, which littered the pass below.

It is one thing to know that this was the litter of ghosts long past, and another to realize that those long past hadn’t just died – they had actually once _lived_. Monks and Nuns, airbenders and spiritual teachers, students and _children_ , just like Aang, who’d roamed the four corners of the world, following the wind where it would take them.

 _Stop it._ Zuko told himself. _Stop it! It’s too much._ He forced himself to breathe, and focus, because otherwise, otherwise it was just…a mess. A tangled up mess of right and wrong and duty and honor and spirits and it was too much. The guilt cut like a knife, and he didn’t know who to feel guilty for.

 _Breathe, and focus._ Wasn’t that what Uncle always said? And there was another pang of guilt. Uncle, abandoned in the Earth Kingdom…

“What do you mean…barely alive?” Zuko grit out, blowing steam. _Focus._

Aang snuffled, and rubbed his face on his knee before peeking up, teary eyed and _scared_. “Th-that’s what Zh-Zhao said. Th-that I’d be k-kept alive…..but j-just barely. S-so there w-wouldn’t b-b-be a new avatar.” He stuttered and hiccupped.

Zuko stilled, feeling a chill creep down his spine and seize his heart. _That…_ He shook. _That cruel, sadistic, murdering bastard piece of traitorous scum!_ Fire bloomed on furiously clenched hands. _He’s just a child!_

“That’s not gonna happen.” Zuko swore. The Airbender paled. “And I’m not gonna kill you!” He added quickly, seeing that terror, directed at _him_. “I promise.” He adds, much softer.

Grey eyes stare at him, searching, seeking, uncertain and desperate and disbelieving. Zuko stares back, gold gaze unwavering, until the avatar looks quietly down, curling in on himself. His tears dry, but the look in his eyes is still full of despair.

~


	3. Chapter 3

If Zuko had thought travelling with a chatty Avatar was bad, travelling with a despondent one was _worse_. He was listless and morose, he looked pitiful and barely ate, barely drank. Getting him out of his tunic, hyperaware of any possible attacks, was an extremely unnerving affair, and then he had to repeat the process all over again once it was washed and dried, just to put it back on him. But he hadn’t attacked.

Zuko felt awful. He tossed and turned at night, listening to a restless, teary airbender sleep and wake and sleep and wake, suffering bad dreams all night long. The boy was pale, his eyes shadowed, and fine brown hair had started growing over his scalp, obscuring the vivid blue tattoo. Zuko noticed bruises and blisters forming on his pale wrists and ankles, when he adjusted the chains to let the avatar out to use the bathroom. The iron was strafing his skin from constant wear.

More concerning, was the way the Avatar was breathing. Deep inhales and short exhales, like he couldn’t get enough air. Nothing crackled in his lungs when Zuko listened for it, and he didn’t cough, but his voice was raspy when he spoke, what little he was speaking, and Zuko feared he was growing ill. He made the airbender sip more tea, and worried.

The Avatar, master of all elements and great enemy to the Fire Nation or not, he was still a _kid_. A miserable kid that Zuko had to drag to the Fire Lord in chains. It grated, and Zuko felt irritable and listless himself. He was going _home_! Why did he have to feel terrible about it?

He glanced at Aang, and knew.

 _The_ _Avatar_. He reminded himself firmly. He had to think of him as the Avatar. Thinking of him any way else just…hurt.

The airbender took another deep, gulping breath.

 _Airbender_!

Zuko could have smacked himself for his utter stupidity! An _airbender_! He’d seen the prison barges the Fire Nation used to keep earthbenders under control, and he’d heard of the dry cells used to contain waterbenders. It was different with airbenders. You couldn’t take away air, not without killing them, but the Avatar had been in this hold for days. A week in a stifling, windowless room two decks under, with no sky, no wind, no open air.

It was night time….there’d be hardly anyone up and about. Decided, Zuko pulled the tarp off the crate and unfastened the locks.

“I don’t have to use the bathroom.” The Avatar protested mildly, looking up with dull eyes.

“Come on.” Zuko pulled him to his feet and started unchaining the avatar, though once he got to the shackles, he hesitated.

 _We’re in the middle of the ocean._ Zuko reminded himself. He unfastened the shackles on his ankles and moved the ones on his hands so that they were in front of the airbender, who was looking up at Zuko with suspicion. Zuko dropped a dull red cloak over the Avatars bright yellow and orange robes and lifted him out of the crate. He was so _light_. Not weak, not by any means, but the airbender never seemed to weigh as much as he should, even for his small size, as if his very bones resisted gravity.

“What are you doing?” The Avatar asked quietly, looking concerned. “Are we – are we at the Fire Nation?”

“No.” Zuko replied. Leading him down the corridor and then up a ladder, which he actually had to carry he Avatar up due to the shackles on his hands. He spun the latch, shoving it open, and the Avatar gasped, arms tightening across Zuko’s shoulders.

Cool evening ocean breezes rushed in to meet warmer air, rustling their hair as it passed. Zuko climbed fully out onto the deck and the airbender slid off his back, drifting lightly to the railing, where he stood, and just _breathed_. Drifting being entirely literal – his toes barely touched the ground with each step.

Most of the clouds had cleared off, stars peeking through, a bright owl-cats claw of the silver moon lit the waves with a glitter, and the avatar basked under the sky, the breeze pulling towards him. Zuko stared at the moon, letting him be, and thought about a white haired girl who saved a Great Spirit.

He remembers her voice, drawing him to wakefulness. _I have a duty to my people._ He hadn’t known her name then. Uncle had told him, later. He’d told him everything.

 _Princess Yue._ Zuko bows to the moon. _You were very brave._

Zuko understood duty, understood that it required honor, and sacrifice. He feels that they have that in common.

“Why?” The avatar asks, turning to look at him after several minutes of quiet, and peace.

“I don’t hate you.” Zuko explains dully. “I don’t _want_ you to suffer.”

Grey eyes are wide and young, his brow drawn in confusion. “But…” He turns his wrists, and the shackles gleam.

“I _must_ bring you to the Fire Lord. If I don’t, then I can never go home, and if I never go home…” Zuko clenches his fists, looking back up at the moon. _My honor…my throne…I have a duty to my people._ He thinks. And he thinks about this long, awful, bloody war, and the way his sister smiled, at grandfathers funeral. Aang wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t. Air Nomads didn’t have families, they didn’t have siblings or sisters or thrones. _The things she would do to my people…to the whole world…._

“People will die, if I can’t go home.” Zuko says. “A lot of people.”

People like that little Earth Kingdom boys’ older brother, like Princess Yue, like Lu Ten.

“A lot of people have already died.” The Air Nomad trembles.

Zuko can still remember bones stacked like wheat, and colorful prayer ribbons blackened by fire. He can still see torn ships and dead men, staining cold water and clean snow a faded, brittle red.

“I know.” He says. “And it has to stop.”

~


	4. Chapter 4

Zuko could smell the islands before the helmsman could see them. The breeze carried warm greenery, the scent of blossoms in spring, and fresh shoots, the dry tickle of honest wood smoke, not coal, and the slight bitterness of sulfur, from the volcanic rivers.

His heart was pounding, and his stomach clenched. _Home._ It almost hurt, that feeling in his chest. That dreadful, bitter longing of almost, almost, _almost_ there, but not quite.

But if he kept staring at the ocean, he was going to blind himself on the glare of sun on water. So, Zuko turned and made his way back down to the hold, hands trembling, feet almost skipping, heart in his throat.

“Avatar….” Delight died on his tongue as he realized what he was about to say, and to whom. He cleared his throat. “We’ll be in port sundown.” Zuko informs him somberly.

“The Firelord….”Aang whispered, skin pale against bright tattoos.

“No – not yet. We’ll be making port in Shu Jing. We’ll have to travel to the Capital from there. A few more days. Maybe.” Less than that really. They could hit the dock, find a ship bound for the Capital, and be there by nightfall the next day if he wanted to.

It was just…he didn’t want to.

 _I’m right here. I’m so close._ Zuko scowls. It didn’t make sense. He should head straight for the capital, as quickly as possible.

Zuko had left the Avatar with his hands shackled in front on him, and the boy hugged his knees.

 _Once we hit the capital, things will be…busy._ Zuko thinks. _And a man needs his rest_. Wasn’t that what Uncle always said?

They could stay in Shu Jing for a day. Zuko needed to make arrangements, make sure he could actually get into the capital city and get into the palace. After all, he was still a wanted man….

Zuko thought about that, paled, and clenched his fists, torn between fear and anger. He was Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, why should he have to slink back home in the shadows, like a thief? He’d completed his mission, he’d captured the _Avatar_ , and still….

Zuko looks at Aang, a slight child wrapped around an awesome and terrible power, and thinks. _I’ve done the impossible. I’ve done what no one else could do. What no one believed I could do. But will it be enough? Will he…_

Zuko cuts the thought off, biting his lip till the pain wiped the question from his mind. He couldn’t bear it.

 _Why not?_ The snide voice in his head, the one that sounded like Azula at her proudest, asked slyly.

 _Because, Prince Zuko, you already have the answers you seek._ The voice in his head that sounded like Uncle, the reasonable one, that voiced caution and patience and compassion said, sounding like Iroh, when Iroh was sad. _You simply refuse to see them._

It hurt. _Agni, why did it have to hurt so much_?!

 _IT DOESN’T MATTER!_ Zuko snarls to himself, unaware that part of that mental sound makes it out of his throat. His hands curls, fingers like claws, and fire blooms. He clenches his fists, and the flames extinguish. _It doesn’t matter. I have a duty to my people._

So.

How to carry it out?

He must enter the Capital City. He _could_ sneak in. He knows how. But it felt wrong. Not just to his pride, but to that innate quiver that felt the knife at his throat, when Azula was near; that heard a rustle of feathers in the night, before the bombs went off.

 _If I am not seen_. He thinks slowly, deliberately vague, even to himself. _It could be claimed that I was not there_. _That I did not return home. That I did not capture the Avatar._

And…some…could find it…convenient, if Prince Zuko never came home.

After all, Zhao was given all the power and resources he needed, to claim the Avatar before Zuko could. And when he failed….Azula was tasked to take his place.

It was an impossible mission to begin with.

And then someone sent _her_.

 _Not_ someone _. My…My_ ….

He couldn’t even force the thought. It hurt. It _burned_.

 _No._ Zuko forces the pain away, the screaming torrent, of _why, why, why_? And focuses on what matters now, right now.

_The terms of my banishment are known. If I capture the Avatar, I can return home. And I have captured the Avatar._

_I just need to make sure everyone knows that too._

~

Zuko has thrown a red robe over the Avatar’s head and shoulders once more, and leads him off the ship by the shackles on his wrist, carefully concealed between them. The rest of the chains are in his bag, saddled on his ostrich-horse, waiting just on the dock.

Zuko pulls up short, Aang running into his back with an ‘oof!’, when he spots the man standing by his ostrich-horse, one hand on her reigns, the other shaking the Captains with a genial smile.

Tall, a southerners darker skin-tone, steel grey eyes and hair, wearing a blossom-pink robe adorned with scarlet-cranes and vivid blue lotuses thrown over simple black and bronze tunics, with gold trim. The sword hilt at his hip made a wriggly suspicion cement into cold, unforgiving fact – Zuko was facing the Lord of Shu Jing, Piandao the swordsman.

His hand tightened on the chains, and he slid a glance back at Aa – the Avatar, who was peeking out the edge of his hood with wide, curious grey eyes.

They were in the Fire Nation itself. There was nowhere for them to run.

Zuko set his stance, prepared to _fight_ , and bowed, one lord to another, and prayed, his free hand a heartbeat from his own sword hilt.

Lord Piandao bowed back.

“Captain Ku sent me a message that he was carrying a most intriguing passenger.” Lord Piandao says, his voice low and loud, as was due a battlefield commander, though he spoke quietly.

Zuko doesn’t flinch, though his heart roars _you can’t have him!_ He shifts his stance, and slides another inch of himself between the Fire Nation noble and the airbender.

Piandao takes a step forward and Zuko wraps his fingers about his hilt, when an iron grip closes around them, preventing him from drawing. They’re standing very close, he and Lord Piandao, and Lord Piandao whispers.

“It is an honor to make _your_ acquaintance, Prince Zuko.” He releases his grip on Zuko’s draw hand, and steps back. “Your uncle was very worried for your wellbeing. It gladdens me that I may send him word that you are well.”

Zuko can’t speak. He can barely breathe. His body is still tensed for a fight, and he isn’t quite sure why there isn’t one. He’s always had to fight, and struggle, and this…this doesn’t make sense.

“I don’t…” Zuko finally stutters, after a long, drawn out moment, where the sun washes the world in orange light, and Piandao studies Aang with a critical eye, and Aang _– the Avatar_ – Zuko reminds himself sharply, and it is that reminder that breaks the stillness in his mind, stands on his tippy toes, trying to get a better look at the market just off the docks, where someone is lighting the lanterns as evening truly sets in.

“Allow me.” Piandao smiles faintly, and turns to allow Zuko to step beside him. Zuko does. He hoists Aang up onto the ostrich-horse, securing him to the saddle before taking the reigns from Piandao. “And allow me also to be the first.” Piandao’s smiles sharpens – a swordsmans grin. “Prince Zuko, _welcome home_. We are dearly glad of your return.”

“Thank you, Lord Piandao.” Zuko murmurs, turning his face so his scar shrouded his expression. He was determined not to cry, but his eyes still burned.

~


	5. Chapter 5

Their walk through the market is quiet, the lord of Shu Jing saving his conversation for his people, who are eager to greet him on the street and leaning out of shop windows.

 _His people are fond of him._ Zuko thinks, observing. In true airbender fashion, Aang can’t seem to decide what to focus on, his eyes darting everywhere, a smile tugging at his face despite his circumstances, and his hands twitch with the urge to interact.

Zuko acquires him a pouch of fire flakes and a few sugared plums when Aang stares at them intensely, practically drooling, hands twitching, and reminds himself that it’s a bad idea to even _think_ of the Avatar by name.

The walk up the main road, and towards the lord of Shu Jings’ compound, is far less noisy.

“Would you like me to send word of your return?” Lord Piandao inquires lightly, as if such conversation were meaningless. “Or should such matters wait till morning?”

And allow the chance that everything could slip through his fingers while he slept? No. Not again.

“Send word to the Fire Sages, please.” Zuko nods. “Anything else…can wait.”

 _A man needs his rest._ To the Fire Sages, but not the Fire Lord. Not yet. Oh, the Sages would tell his father, of that Zuko had no doubt, but so would they spread word to _everyone_. The Crown Prince returns victorious.

“I’ll see to it.” Lord Piandao nods.

“You’ve heard from my uncle?” Zuko blurts. “Is he….well?”

“Whole and hale, though he was quite concerned, and searching for you.” Piandao imparts, opening the gate to his home. Zuko frowns slightly at the familiarity of the pattern on the doors, but lets it slide. If he had to see another lotus tile in his lifetime, it would be too soon.

“We were….separated.” Zuko mumbles, ashamed of the circumstances. Lord Piandao doesn’t comment.

Zuko glances at Aang, whom is biting his lip and wringing his hands, fingers now sticky and stained with plum juice. He looks like someone who wants to know something, and at the same time doesn’t. Desperate.

Zuko knows what it’s like, that feeling.

“And has there been any news of the Avatars companions?” Zuko asks quietly. Aang – _Spirits, burn and blast it_! – the _Avatars_ eyes go wide.

Piandao tactfully avoids looking at them, and his voice is frightfully mild when he replies. All signs of one who is being either extremely cautious, or carefully neutral. “Only that they were pursued by Princess Azula, and escaped her.”

The Avatars grin is pure relief. Zuko lets out a breath, and is willing to admit that he’s relieved as well. No one deserves to be caught by Azula.

 _Agni, thank you_. Zuko thinks.

~

A hot bath, and a sauna. Agni, Zuko could have soaked for days. Which was all well and fine until the Avatar flung himself off the tile edge and flopped into the water with a “Yippee!”, finally free of the shackles.

Zuko sputtered, escaping the deep pool of water as the Avatar splashed around, heedless of the Firebenders glower. Zuko dried quickly and slipped into a robe, eyeing the Avatar as he bent water to enact a whale-squid devouring a ship.

 _A child_. Zuko rolled his eyes and went grudgingly to the mirror, keeping half an eye on the Avatar to make sure a kids playful bending didn’t turn into something more lethal, aimed at his back.

His hair was ruefully short. Too short to really do anything with, save comb. No top-knot, no phoenix tail. His reflection didn’t look like a prince. It wasn’t even the scar, or the hair, well, it was, and it wasn’t. It was the too-thin edges of his face, the pallor of his skin, which spoke of hunger and weariness. The brittle fingernails and torn cuticles, the cracking callouses that spoke of labor and poor care. His jaw clenched as he took it all in.

There was a light knock on the door, and the Avatar peeked over the edge of the bathing pool, eyes and arrow tattoo just visible under fuzzy hair.

“Prince Zuko?” A servant said, voice muffled by the heavy door. “I’ve brought your robes.”

Zuko moved the open the door, unlocking it, and two bundles where laid gently into his hands. He pulled back with a quiet “thank you”, closed the door, and locked it again. He set the bundles on a low counter and paused. These were not the same robes.

Fine bronze tunics, trimmed in the gold sea-silk that announced command. Black arm guards made of scaled-hide, polished to a gleam, accompanied by soft, deep red linings. A wide belt, made of the same. A sleeveless over-robe, with a sharp cut to the shoulders, made of the palest gold, adorned with red and copper dragons, twining around the edges like flames, and branches of pale plum-cot blossoms, adding traces of black and green amongst white flowers.

“Fancy.” Aang commented, from just under his shoulder, almost getting an instinctive elbow to the face when Zuko flinched, not having noticed him, too busy running his fingers over fine fabric.

“Yeah.” Zuko was used to nice, really nice, but not quite this fancy. He’d been in military tunics since he was, _spirits_ , eight? Not only that. The nobleman’s garb lacked armor, but Zuko had a well-trained and rather paranoid eye, from travelling the Earth Kingdoms. The fabric was fine, and nice, and _sturdy_ , rather than stiff. And the cut of the seams? These robes were made for a swordsman, for someone who needed to _move_.

“Oh, hey!” The Avatar was rifling through the clothes brought for him as well, and Zuko lifted a brow.

A thin shirt of cloud silver, long-sleeved and tight. A sleeveless tunic of the palest sunshine yellow, with a high collar. And a silky over-garment of vivid, sunset orange, which would clasp over one shoulder and fall loose, to be cinched at the waist with a cloud silver belt. Autumn leaves embroidered the bottom of the orange sash.

Zuko didn’t know whether to be impressed or nervous, as he rubbed the seams between his fingers. Someone, or, more likely, several someone’s, must have been up all night either sewing these robes or adjusting them to fit. And quality this fine? Wasn’t cheap. That was a lot of investment on lord Piandao’s part.

“I’m gonna shave.” The avatar announced, bouncing over to the mirror and picking up the clippers left there. Zuko watched him carefully clean away the first stripe of fine hair, and then turned away to dress.

~


	6. Chapter 6

_In, and out_.

In.

And out.

Zuko focused on the inhales, and the exhales, on the fire, outside, lighting the candle wick, and the fire, inside, carrying energy and heat throughout his body.

Focus on the breath, and not on the Avatar, who sighed, bouncing his heels off the floor in boredom, lying on his back. Who groaned, flopping over onto his stomach, and tried to amuse himself by scooting Zuko’s candle around. To the left. To the right. Sew-sawing back over to the left, making the flame sputter and flare.

“Do airbenders not meditate?” Zuko growled irritably, concentration broken.

“We do.” The Avatar replied, propping himself up on elbows, chin cupped in his hands, feet kicking in the air, accompanied by small whirling breezes with each light kick. “But it’s for connecting to our spiritual selves.” He said. “Although, as the Avatar, I can use it to cross over to the spirit world. I did that once.”

“You don’t say.” Zuko deadpans.

“What do Firebenders meditate for?” Aang asked, grey eyes washed almost brown by the little flame.

“Discipline.” Zuko says. “Meditation calms the mind. It helps us focus on the energies within our body, and practice our breathing. The power in firebending comes from the breath, which brings energy into the body, and strengthens our chi, which then becomes fire.”

And why could he understand that lesson so clearly now, when Uncle had tried to drill into his head a thousand times? He’d lost that simple discipline in his fight with Azula, and the moment he did, he’d also lost the fight.

“Huh.” Aang- _the Avatar, the Avatar, the Avatar_ , Zuko chants in his mind – said thoughtfully. “I didn’t know that.”

A knock at the door perks them both up.

“Honored Prince Zuko, Lord Piandao sends his humble regards, and his wishes that you may join him at the breakfast table.” A servant bowed.

“Yay!” The avatar yips. “I’m starving!”

“We are honored to accept.” Zuko says formally, giving the airbender a sideways glance. The servant bows again, and gestures for them to precede ahead.

Zuko had left the shackles off, to better allow healing ointment to do its job on the raw marks left by the chains, but he was tempted to put them back on just to keep the airbender grounded. He darted from one side of the hallway to the other, bouncing on feather-light feet, grabbing Zuko’s sleeve and popping up to trying and peak over his shoulder, to get a better look of where they were going, and it was hellish on Zuko’s nerves. His muscles tensed, and his eye twitched, prepared at any moment for Aang to slip through his clutches, _again_.

But the Avatar didn’t. They seemed to have an unspoken truce, of sorts. Perhaps it was that they were in the Fire Nation, and he saw the futility of escape. Perhaps it was simple caution, and he was only biding his time, waiting for Zuko’s guard to drop. Perhaps it was the quiet agreement that both of them knew this war must end. He wasn’t sure.

The servant showed them into an airy, light filled room, with a low table surrounded by cushions, and sheer drapes fluttering in breezes from wide archways which lead to beautifully scaped gardens.

Zuko stopped short, and Aang ran into his back, again.

Piandao sat at the head of the table, todays over-robe a pale lavender, adorned with yellow fire lilies and pink grape-cherry blossoms. The pale colors made his grey eyes seem lighter, more vivid against his face.

A nobleman in soft colors made himself seem kinder, gentler. It put people at ease, whereas dark shades and vivid reds spoke of battle and hardness. It was a deliberate choice. Lord Piandao was definitely trying to _play nice_. It set Zuko’s teeth on edge.

But that wasn’t what drew him up short. Sitting at Piandao’s left, in the ruby robes and stiff cowl of office, with a fine gold chain draped between shoulders, was a Fire Sage. A raw shard of garnet adorned the seat of his cowl, where the helm rested upon his brow, crusted in gold. The braces on his wrists were true dragon-scales; and the folds of his belt? Where the colors displayed went from the red of fire nation flags, to blood dark, to black?

This was a High Elder among the Fire Sages. His face was wrinkled like fine paper, a few shades lighter than Piandao’s. His hair was hidden under cowl and helm, but his brows where fine white lines, his mustache trim thin, and his beard long and narrow, but perfectly kempt. Dignity and power, this man had.

“Honorable Elder.” Zuko bowed. Deeply. The Fire Lord may command the Fire Nation, but his power came from the Fire Sages. The Avatar bowed as well, half a step behind him.

“Prince Zuko, Heir to the Dragon Throne.” The Elder returned the bow. “Avatar Aang, of the Southern Air Temple. May Agni bless our meeting, and the Great Spirits smile down upon us.”

“Thank you, Master Sage.” Aang said politely.

Zuko tried not to wince, wanting to smack himself.

_He’s the Avatar! Stop calling him Aang! He is not your friend!_

“Please, have a seat.” Piandao gestured, the hard edges of his mouth turning a slight smile. Zuko nodded, and they settled themselves.

“Thank you, Lord Piandao, for your hospitality.” Zuko says, though his voice rasps unintentionally. It’d been a long time since formality and noble decorum were asked of him. “And thank you also for the robes. The craftsmanship is excellent.”

“Our seamstresses will be delighted to hear that the Crown Prince is pleased with their work.” Piandao replies. “Shu Jing takes pride in their skills.”

Zuko nods, tries to think of something else to say, and fails. Sitting in awkward silence, he tries not to sweat. He glances nervously at the Fire Sage, whose fingers are steepled, and whose eyes are hooded, looking down into his tea.

“Oh, spicy!” Aang blurts, having taken a gulp of his tea. Zuko inhales lightly, lips just parted, and can taste the cinni-ginger on his tongue, as well as the sweet floral of sun-roses. Not a traditional breakfast tea, but a very, very expensive brew. It wasn’t one of Uncle’s preferred teas, but the Lady Ursa had loved it. A pang of grief and longing lances through his chest, and he breathes through the pain.

“You’re supposed to sip on it.” Zuko admonishes lightly, thinking of all the times Uncle had swatted his fingers when he did the exact same thing. “Let the flavor spread across your palette.”

The airbenders brows shoot up, and he takes a much more cautious sip, and then shrugs. Zuko rolls his eyes.

“Now that you are safely home, Prince Zuko,” The Elder starts, “the Fire Sages can see to delivering the Avatar to the Capital, and you may-“

“No.” Zuko says flatly, cutting off the honored Elder. His voice is firm, but he expects rebuke. He gets none. The Fire Sage shoots a look at Piandao, and Piandao gazes levelly back, that faint smile back on his face.

Zuko glances between them, uncertain, and then takes another slow, even breath. He must see this through!

“I have chased the Avatar to the ends of the world and back. I have brought the Avatar to the Fire Nation. I will present him to Fire Lord Ozai myself. And for so long as he is to remain, the Avatar _will_ remain under my responsibility. I will accept nothing less.” Zuko stated firmly, hiding fear and a pounding heart behind a hard gaze and a lifted chin, with another slow, steady breath.

 _He said he was going to keep me alive. But just barely. So there wouldn’t be a new Avatar_. Aang’s voice rang in his head, full of fear.

Zuko wouldn’t let that happen.

The Fire Sage lifts his fine brows, sets back his shoulders, and studies Zuko, and, with a slow, satisfied smile, bows his head. “So it shall be.”

Beside him, the Avatar lets out a whooshing breath and glances up at Zuko, relieved. Zuko blinks at him a few times, letting it sink in that _that actually worked_.

~


	7. Chapter 7

“Zuko.” The Avatars voice is steady, but low, uncertainty coloring his tone. “What’s going to happen, when you take me to the Fire Lord?”

“No one’s going to hurt you.” Zuko assures him. “I won’t let them. But you will be placed in a special prison, so you can’t hurt the Fire Nation.”

The Airbender paled, and Zuko felt a twinge of guilt clench his stomach.

“It won’t be bad.” Zuko said, trying for a lighter tone. _Even if I have to build it myself._ “Just some place where you can’t get into trouble.” _Or assassinate the Fire Lord._

The Avatar looks down, tears threatening at his eyes as his arms hug his stomach.

“I’m sorry. You’re just a kid.” Zuko rages, his anger swift and fierce and _bitter_. “You shouldn’t even be the Avatar! You were supposed to grow up first!” _Sixteen._ The records claimed. The Avatar, no matter their nation, no matter their time, was supposed to be allowed sixteen years of peace. To figure out who they were, without the weight of the world on their shoulders, to just simply grow up.

Zuko had expected to face an old man, a seasoned veteran, and instead, he’d found…

“But…” Aang’s lip trembled.

“I know.” Zuko turned away, ashamed. Frustration bubbled up, a thick slurry of confusion, anger, and guilt. “Rrgh!” He growled, fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut, and sat, hard. _It’s not fair. None of its fair._

His elbows came up to rest on his knees, and he bowed his head with a hard sigh.

“You’ll be safe.” Zuko promised, again, determined, _by Agni_ , to keep it. “We just need time. I am the Crown Prince. I can figure out how to stop this war. _I have to_!” _Without getting all of us killed._ He added silently.

“We don’t have time.” Aang whispers, fingers trembling.

“What?” Zuko rasps, looking up sharply.

“S-Sozin’s Comet.” Aang stutters, pale. “It’ll be here by the end of summer. If we don’t defeat the Fire Lord by then…”

The blood drained from Zuko’s face, leaving it cold, and numb. “No.” He whispers, horrified.

Oh, he can _see_ it. The power that his great-grandfather had used to wipe out the Air Nomads. Every Firebender, a _hundred_ times stronger.

_You will learn respect! And suffering will be your teacher._

Ozai would raze the world to the ground.

Just to prove that he could.

~

“Lord Piandao?” Zuko finally found the man in the entry hall, exchanging slippers for sturdy boots. Zuko hesitated. “Are you…going somewhere?”

“I was heading out into town. Today is the ten-day market, and a good lord makes himself available to his people. Besides, I believe it may be a more festive affair, in light of your return.” Piandao adds. “I had just sent someone to extend an invitation to you.”

Zuko opens his mouth to refuse, and hesitates again. He needed…he needed…spirits, _he didn’t know what he needed_! His hands were cold and his heart was beating wildly, dread curled in the put of his stomach. He wished uncle were here. He could use some good advice.

 _I need help._ Zuko knew, for certain. But help with _what_? What exactly did he think he was going to do to stop this war _by the end of summer_!?

 _A good lord makes himself available to his people_ , Piandao had said. Zuko swallowed, breathed in slow, and let it out.

“It would be my honor to accompany you, Lord Piandao.” Zuko nods. _Honor,_ Zuko thinks, and for once it doesn’t hurt. After all, he’s done his duty.

“I can arrange for some of my guards to watch over the Avatar-“ Piandao started.

“That won’t be necessary.” Zuko says flatly. “I’d rather not let the Avatar out of my sight.”

Piandao doesn’t even falter, merely nods. Zuko backtracks two rooms to find Aang where he left him, admiring Piandao’s collection of elaborate tapestries.

“This is from the Eastern Air Temple.” The airbender murmurs, hand raised, fingers almost touching the threads. It depicted a stone shrine under a pale dawn, sitting above a cascade of pools and falls. It could have been anywhere in the world, but it wasn’t. Zuko’s been to that temple. He’s seen that shrine, though the glass roof is gone, some of the pillars now broken, and the pools of clear water turned to an ash slurry, and cemented into stillness. “Monk Gyatso took me there once.”

It’s hard to breathe, trying to comprehend that much loss. “I’m-“

“Don’t be.” Aang cuts him off, turning to smile at his, though his voice is hoarse. “It’s a good memory.” He looks around, and Zuko follows his gaze. Piandao has landscapes from all over the world. The peaks around Omashu, the great falls of old Taku, the vast, glittering ice sheets of the north, the wild dunes of the great Si Wong desert, and a hundred other places. It’s an impressive collection. Something about it though….He shakes his head.

“Would you like to go to the market?” Zuko asks.

“Do I have to put the shackles back on?” the avatar asks lowly, right hand hovering over his left wrist. Zuko frowned, thinking about it.

“We’ll have guards.” Zuko said slowly, half thinking aloud. “You won’t have to put them on if you swear not to try anything.”

“I swear.” The avatar says quickly, face brightening. Zuko eyes him, and then leans down to his level, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking him eye to eye.

“I’m trusting you, Aang.” Zuko says, very deliberately. Grey eyes widen, and he nods solemnly.

~


	8. Chapter 8

Piandao’s servants open the gate, and Zuko flinches.

Two solemn rows of guards stand flanking either side of the road, and one stands tall in the middle, the gold trim and the pattern of threads and knots in his arm bands identifying him as the commanding officer, a Home Guard captain.

 _I knew it._ Zuko thinks furiously, tensing, taking a sharp breathe to bring energy to his body, building it behind his hands, ready to bend-

“Prince Zuko, son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai.” The Guard bows. “Lord Piandao of Shu Jing, Master of the Sword.”

Following suit, all the Guards on either side clap fist to palm, and bow as well.

 _What?_ Zuko thinks wildly, blood rushing, ready for the fight. The memory of Imperial armor on both sides, and Azula’s cruel sneer still echoing in his mind.

“If you would allow us, my Guardsmen would be honored to escort our lords today. We are your humble servants.” The captain bows again, deeper, and holds. Waiting.

Zuko glances at Piandao, who’s looking at him, brow mildly raised in an expectant ‘ _well_?’ Zuko blinks, shocked, and turns back to the captain.

“We…graciously accept.” Zuko nods, and realizes he’s got one hand clenched white-knuckled around the hilt of his sword. He hastily lets go. “Captain…?”

“Ten Su, milord.” The Captain offers, with a relieved smile. Zuko notices that he’s sweating, and a little pale in the face.

 _Why so nervous?_ Zuko wonders, eyes peeled for a threat. _What don’t I know?_

“Captain Ten Su, I would like that you have four Guards with the Avatar at all times.” Zuko says. The man nods sharply, but his hazel eyes widen a little, and he swallows.

“Of course, milord.” He says. Zuko tries not to twitch, unused to the address. The Captain looks down to the right, where Aang is peeking out from Zuko’s shadow. The airbender smiles brightly, and waves nervously.

“Hi.” He says.

“Lieutenant Kotone.” The Captain nods to a woman with long bangs and short hair, and eyes with a bit more gold in them than you usually saw outside nobility. She steps forward and gestures to three of her sergeants to fall in step, flanking the Avatar.

Zuko studies them critically. Two of them were clearly seasoned veterans, but one was only a few years older than Zuko himself, and green enough to blanch when Zuko eyed him up and down. Still shy of authority.

He eyes Aang, who looks back with bright grey eyes and a grin. This feels like a bad idea.

“Prince Zuko?” Piandao inquires lightly. Zuko blinks, takes a slow breath, and nods.

Zuko thinks about the Home Guard as they walk. Mostly veterans past their prime, or wounded, no longer considered fit for the front line, and women, who had duties to house and clan that required them close to home.

They played a vital role in the survival of the Fire Nation, policing the islands, keeping fire watches to protect the people from unexpected blazes, mounting rescues for the lost and shipwrecked, and providing desperately needed support during disaster.

The year before his banishment, one of the worst storms in ten years had hit the islands. They’d had to evacuate Fire Fountain City, and all the villages from there to Taiyu province, just west of Shu Jing. Iroh, with Zuko in tow, had gone to oversee the recovery effort. All that preparation, and still the devastation had been…Zuko shakes his head, remembering mud caked trees, and flooded fields. Houses and trees torn apart and strewn to pieces as far as the eye could see, and the flies. The masses and masses of flies, like a violent shadow above it all.

And the Home Guard, putting it all back together piece by piece, disposing of what couldn’t be salvaged and repurposing what could. Bringing in desperately needed clean water and rations. Zuko hadn’t understood then, what being desperate meant, what it felt like, what it did to a person. He’d complained, about the humidity, and the flies, and the smell.

Uncle had been angry with him. _You are very fortunate, Prince Zuko, that your troubles are such shallow things._ He’d said harshly. Then he’d sat Zuko down at the distribution line, filling bowls with water from barrels. He’d sulked, for hours, filling bowl after bowl. And then the water had run out. He was left standing in front of dust-laden faces full of despair, and thirsty children, telling them that there wasn’t any more. _There isn’t any water left. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

He’d apologized to Uncle, after.

 _Your people look to you to provide for them, Prince Zuko_. Uncle had said gravely. _And they provide for you in turn. That is not your burden, it is your responsibility! It is your duty to your people, as their lord._

“Master Piandao!” A blacksmith calls out, waving from his shop, where the forge glowed brightly. “Good day!”

Piandao smiles and waves back.

“Prince Zuko.” He startles, as an elderly woman bows to him. He jerks his hand away from his sword hilt and bows back. A few people murmur, and the Guards seem surprised. _Why?_

The old woman touches a hand to her heart and murmurs a prayer in his honor. Zuko glances at Piandao, trying to get a clue, but his expression is mild, gaze carefully neutral. _I don’t understand…_

More people seem to step nearer, as they walk, a light buzz through the crowd. It doesn’t seem like a bad thing, but it makes him anxious. Piandao nods to another bowing civilian, and Zuko misses half a step and stifles a groan, wanting to smack himself. _That’s why…_ The old woman had bowed, a citizen to her loyal lord, and he had bowed _back_ , a youth to his elder, because that’s what was done, by a proper young man.

 _Manners_ , Uncle had reminded him _constantly_. Especially once they were in the Earth Kingdom, trying to pass as wandering refugees. Just two more passers-by, trying not to stand out.

Except here, he wasn’t an exile on the run, trying to pass himself off as an ordinary person with no secrets to hide. Here, he was _Crown Prince of the Fire Nation_.

“For you!” Zuko almost trips over a toddler, and stops abruptly, looking down at a little girl, holding up a scraggily pansy-lion flower.

“I’m so sorry!” A harried mother darts towards them, only to get held back by a guardswoman. “Prince Zuko…”

Zuko drops to a crouch, sweeping his robe so it won’t drag on the ground, and carefully accepts the flower. “Thank you.” He says. The little girl giggles, her smile gummy and gap-toothed.

“You’ welcome.” She says, and darts back towards her mother. Zuko stands, face reddening a little.

“Aww.” The Avatar says, bouncing up to his elbow. “That was cute!”

Someone gasps, and more murmurs break out, the buzz growing louder. Yep, the Avatar. Zuko looks flatly down at the grinning airbender, and sighs.

~

Zuko grits his teeth, one blade bearing swiftly down, the other twisting into a reverse rip, into a guard position as he brought his full weight forward. Where he not practicing on mere air, it would have been a lethal blow, and a form suited to one who often fights outnumbered by his enemies.

Aang is perched on a nearby boulder in Piandao’s expansive rock garden, meditating while Zuko practices his footwork in the lamplight. Or at least, he’s pretending to meditate. Zuko rather thinks he’s more focused on playing games with the butterflies, casting little breezes to chase them.

The Fire Sages have made arrangements for Zuko to travel to the Capital, the ship set to sail at dawn. The High Elder himself would accompany him, along with two Sages lesser ordained. Furthermore, Captain Ten Su had requested that Lieutenant Kotone, well deserved of a promotion, and her own command, be allowed to escort him, along with her team.

It was generous and unexpected, from of all of them. And still, the dread thickened in his stomach, and made him ill.

“An unusual style, Prince Zuko.” Lord – no, _Master_ Piandao commented, stepped down into the garden. Zuko had wondered how long he was going to just stand there. The legendary swordsman drew his own blade, and saluted. “May I?”

Zuko’s mouth went dry at the mere thought. He was self-trained duelist with no formal style, and Piandao was the greatest swordsman the Fire Nation had ever seen.

It’d be like… _like a thirteen year old boy, going up against the Fire Lord himself._ He thinks bitterly, and bites his tongue.

“I’m afraid, Master Piandao, I’ll have to decline. A Crown Prince must retain some dignity.” He jokes faintly, trying not to offend.

Piandao’s eyes gleam. “Composure. Humility. Discipline. Respect.” Piandao says. “A good swordsman has them all.”

And he attacks.

“Wa-agh!” Zuko yelps, bringing his blades up to block, and shear the blow aside. _He’s fast!_ Zuko thinks, as a hilt is twisted, and a blade turned aside flickers back through his guard. He twists, pushing his weight towards Piandao but away from the edge of his blade as it grazes his ribs. A simple scratch from a deadly strike. He rams one blade into the flat of Piandao’s, and draws the other under in a sweeping arc, meant to cripple his stance.

Piandao leaps, forcing their blades down, shrieking off stone as he gains distance. Zuko chases, knowing that the lord of Shu Jing has a longer reach, and any distance at all would favor him. He ducks another lightning-fast sweep and twirls, turning his reverse grip into the best defense – an offense. Piandao parries, and Zuko tucks his other blade in close, sweeping up, like a waterbender carrying the tide.

Again, the lord of Shu Jing seek distance, and Zuko twirls his reverse grip back forward, holding up his guard, and allows it, waiting. Piandao holds his blade firm, a long sleek line from fingertip to blade-point, an extension of his arm.

 _I waited three years for the Avatar._ Zuko thinks. _I can wait for you too. Come on, strike me!_

Piandao was strong. The blade-point didn’t waver in the slightest. Zuko could feel the tension pent up in his body, tightening his muscles, creating tremors, and deliberately forced himself to relax. _I can wait._

A feint left, almost too fast to track, then right. Zuko brought one sword up to parry, and the other met the real strike to his left mere inches below his scarred eye. Metal sparked blue. _I know my weaknesses._ Zuko snarls wordlessly. Did Piandao know his own?

Zuko slammed his free blade back into the hilt, trapping Piandaos, and spun with a sharp inhale, drawing energy into the body as his momentum carried him around, gathering inertia the way an airbender gathered the wind, and struck true, to shatter the blade against his heel.

Except it didn’t shatter. It rang like a gong, and the sharp _snap_ ….

Zuko’s eyes widened, and Piandao lifted a surprised brow before taking a composed step back, and lowering his blade. He traded its hilt to his unbroken hand, and smiled. “Ingenuity. Patience. _Commitment_. Someone taught you well, Prince Zuko.”

He caught the next strike in a cross of blades, turning the blow up and over, spinning on the heel of his foot and rising _up_. “I taught _myself_!” He hissed, forcing himself to draw an even breath as blades flashed faster than deliberate thought, and each move was not a decision, so much as an instinct.

Stone steps behind him. Piandao lunged, and Zuko dropped, drawing himself low and bracing his swords with a palm, using the natural arc and Piandao’s own force to carry him over, and down, leaving Zuko on the high ground. He’d let Azula force him down the ramp at the Fire Nation resort. He wouldn’t repeat that mistake.

Piandao spun as he fell, and his jab rent fine cloth. Another hairline scratch, just beading blood.

_He’s playing with me._

“ _Enough_!” Zuko commanded, sick and tired of being the victim of other peoples’ games. Zhao. Azula. Ozai. He’d had enough.

Piandao lowers his blade from its guard position, and sheathes it. “As you command, Prince Zuko.” He bows.

“That.” The Avatar calls. “Was scary.” Zuko twitches, eyeing the airbender darkly. Aang smiles nervously, and scratches his head. “Eh heh he.”

“You’re lighter on your feet than I expected, Prince Zuko, for a Firebender trained by General Iroh. Excellent footwork, for one self-taught.” Piandao comments, ascending the stairs.

His footwork was exactly what Uncle complained about. Zuko eyes him warily.

“A few more years, and I dare say your swordskills _might_ challenge mine.” Piandao adds, with a rueful sort of glee.

“I don’t need your flattery.” Zuko growls ungraciously. “And I don’t want it.” He sheathes his dao with force. Lies draped in silk, that’s all it was.

Piandao’s shoulders straightened, and his expression fell like stone, unyielding and merciless.

“Do you call into question the integrity of the Lord of Shu Jing, Prince Zuko?” Piandao inquired with icy formality.

Zuko hid a wince behind his scar, and thought about screaming until all the tension in his body had left him, and instead, did nothing but meet a steel gaze with a gold one. “No.” He said.

Piandao inclines his head. “Then perhaps you should take me at my word.” He says harshly, and sweeps away, broken wrist cradled against his abdomen.

“And what word is that, lord Piandao?” Zuko calls. “What do you _want_?” His voice cracks.

“A lords _wants_ matter little, Prince Zuko.” Piandao says over his shoulder. “Compared to what his people _need_.” He walks away.

Zuko fumed, frustrated and confused, and looked at Aang, who simply shrugged.

~


	9. Chapter 9

Lieutenant Kotone and her team awaited them at the docks, the Fire Sages having trailed Zuko the whole way down from Piandao’s compound, making what might have been a relaxing walk into a stiltedly formal march of silence. Piandao’s robe today was dark, a deep umber, trimmed gold and adorned with a simple embroidery, to add a bit of interest to an otherwise plain garment. His wrist was wrapped in a healers cast, and this mornings tea had once again reminded Zuko, painfully, of his mother. He had no idea what to think about Shu Jings lord.

Facing the Guardsmen, Zuko took note, once more, of Lieutenant Kotone’s short cropped hair, and long fringe – the mark of someone whose longer tresses had suffered from a close encounter with flames, and had been shorn short. Pure black locks, against a warm shade of bronze skin, and those eyes that spoke of noble blood. He wasn’t sure what to make of the Guardswoman either. So he ignored her, for now.

Her three companions, rather than being a typical matched set, were a compilation of contradictions.

One obvious veteran, ragged scars drawn across a weathered cheek, brown hair salted with grey pulled into a top knot, adorned with an archaic half-sun, rather than the common two-tongued flame. An antique, by the look of it, probably a family heirloom. Probably from one of the outlying domains, where the culture remained….old-fashioned. A head taller than his counterparts, and as solid as an earthbender.

One young man who was _clearly_ from Ty Lee’s clan, though his grey eyes were dull as glass, and his mouth somberly set. The standard set of armor he wore was interrupted by the sakura-pink linings of his arm guards, confirming his heritage, and he carried two sets of needle-point daggers, in place of sword or pike. That he carried the astringent tang of blasting jelly and gunpowder about his person, when the breeze pulled past him, was also mildly alarming.

Which left the last member of Kotone’s troupe. A lean woman with deep brown eyes who carried a bow, and bore the tattoos of a Yu Yan archer. Former, mostly likely. Perhaps his mothers age, which led him to believe that the reason she likely left the Yu Yan was to raise children. Women in specialty fields with critical skills and a duty to their families tended to follow a cycle, where they tested their skills on the battlefield in honorable service, returned home to marry and produce heirs, and then returned to service, either with the Home Guard, or as an Instructor.

Any one of them wouldn’t be too remarkable, to discover in the Home Guard of Shu Jing. All of them, and together?

 _Someone is pulling strings. Pushing pieces into place._ Zuko thinks. _But whom? To what end?_

“Our loyalty is yours, Prince Zuko. Rightful Heir to the Dragon Throne.” Kotone bows reverently.

_Rightful Heir to the Dragon Throne._

Zuko sucks in a breath.

_Oh._

~

“I figured it out!” Zuko blurts, once he and the Avatar are finally alone, safely ensconced behind the solid steel door of Zuko’s cabin. He circled the room just once though, brushing aside the rich hangings which might have hid a discreet spy-hole or listening grate. There were none.

“Hm?” The Avatar barely looked interested, fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of his silver sleeve, chewing his lip in worry. He’d been pale all morning, his face showing the queasiness Zuko felt.

“Aang.” Zuko grabbed him by the shoulders – they were so _thin_! – and looked him in the eye. “How to stop the war. I think I figured it out.”

Grey eyes blink, then widen, and Aang lightly hops back, pulling a breeze under himself to gentle his fall as he lands on the cot, legs crossed, hands falling into his lap. “Oh. H-how?”

Zuko eyes the airbender critically, lowering himself to sit on the floor. For all he’d seemed fine the past few days, even happy at the market yesterday, he really didn’t look so good.

 _It’ll be okay._ Zuko thinks. _I’ll figure this out, and…he won’t have to worry. He can just be a kid._ Nodding to himself, Zuko takes a deep breath, and begins. “The thing is….my father isn’t the rightful heir to the throne.” Zuko says carefully, around the needle sharp pain of memory.

“But, he’s the Fire Lord….?” Aang said.

“Right.” Zuko nods, breathing out steam. His knuckles where white, where his fingers gripped his knees. “But he wasn’t supposed to be. After grandfather…Fire Lord Azulon, Uncle Iroh was meant to take the throne.” Zuko explains.

Grey eyes shadow like a storm, a gentle brows furrow. Aang tilts his head. “So…why didn’t he? Your Uncle seemed….nice. He tried to save the moon.”

The unexpected reminder of the North Pole is…grounding, in a way. The memory of Princess Yue, and the Oceans rage. _I have a duty to my people._ It firms his resolve to face the past, to explain, even if it hurts.

“Because Lu Ten….” A breathe, slow and steady. “Because Uncle’s son died.”

“And that meant he couldn’t be Fire Lord?” Aang’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “That’s sad.”

“No.” Zuko shakes his head. “It just….set things in motion, that were never supposed to happen.” Things he hadn’t understood then. “When my….when Ozai found out, he petitioned our grandfather – Fire Lord Azulon.” A flash of heat, flames rising with grandfathers ire, and the silky swish of drapes. “He said, that since Iroh had lost his heir…that he…”Zuko grits his teeth, and looks away. _Betrayal._ Zuko thinks, understanding now how truly vicious Ozai’s grab for power was, even before…before… “My father said that Fire Lord Azulon should make him the heir to the throne, since he still had kids to follow his line.”

What a thin veneer of a reason that was, Zuko recognized now. If Iroh never remarried, never sired more children, Zuko and Azula would have been heirs in the line regardless. But then, if it went that Iroh lived to old age, that line would have passed Ozai by, in favor of a younger, more powerful successor.

And Ozai couldn’t accept that.

“And Fire Lord Azulon _denied_ him.” Zuko murmurs. The events that followed had been so confusing, so shrouded in doubt and lies, he’d never really considered it before, but…

_Would grandfather really have had me killed?_

Azulon may have been old, well past his prime, but he wasn’t _senile_ , and he’d never been stupid. Where Sozin had made his legacy out of bloody glory, Azulon had made his out of cunning victory and strategic genius.

Ozai was married, and Ursa in good health, they could have had more children even if Azula hadn’t been alive, and a prodigy, and perfect to inherit. But to _murder_ an heir? So soon after the loss of Lu Ten?

Aside from the literal _insanity_ of murdering ones’ own heir, an act which _would_ turn the Fire Sages and the other noble families away from Azulon and Ozai, another loss in the line succession would have made their people uneasy. The whole Fire Nation, this entire war, relied upon the strength and certainty of the royal family. The uncertainty of succession alone would have damaged the war effort, but the _political_ turmoil? The Fire Nation could have crumbled from within.

Throwing everything else aside, and there was a lot to throw, it would have been _stupid_.

And grandfather wasn’t stupid.

“But…then how did Ozai become Fire Lord?” Aang asks, eyes wide with shock.

 _Everything I have done, I have done to protect you._ Zuko closes his eyes, grief suddenly choking, and hunches in on himself until the worst of it passes.

Maybe grandfather wouldn’t have had him killed. Azula lies. But the truth or not, Lady Ursa had _believed_ that Zuko’s life was at stake.

“Because Fire Lord Azulon died.” Zuko eventually grinds out. “He was murdered in his sleep. My father made that happen. And then he made people believe that Azulon had named _him_ to be the next Fire Lord.”

Which _also_ would have been stupid, Zuko realizes.

Ozai may have been one of the most powerful Firebenders in the world, but he lacked the kind of experience a Fire Lord of Sozins legacy _needed_. He may have sat in the war room, but Ozai had never served in battle. He’d never commanded troops, managed a theater of war, or faced the enemies of the Fire Nation in combat. He’d never even been outside the home islands. Which was odd, now that Zuko thought about it. Prior to Lu Tens birth, it may have been prudent to keep a spare heir safe in the homeland, but after? Yet Azulon had not forced his second son to serve his people.

And neither had his father served with the Fire Sages, as a bender of his strength and lineage may have, were he not to go to war. Zuko’s Great Aunts Lee and Lo had done so, when they were young. To study the cultural history of the Fire Nation, to master the rules of war, to understand the duties and responsibilities of the royal house and every loyal lord. The Fire Sages held great wisdom, and all their nations secrets. Before Sozin waged war on the world, it had been the custom of every Fire Lord to-be to serve time with the Fire Sages.

Instead, Ozai had served as a master of intelligence, an administrator of sorts, who kept Azulon apprised of the political intrigues and movements _within_ the Fire Nation. He held power in the court, and manipulated it to his liking. Which had served his own ends, but not that of the Fire Nation as a whole, nor its great endeavor to conquer the world.

Some may blame the broken Siege of Ba Sing Se for damaging the war effort, but Zuko knew _now_ that much of that lost ground came from putting men like Zhao in command, from tactics like the sacrifice of the 41 st division of raw recruits, and poor management of forces. He’d seen it first hand, after all. _And Uncle…_ Uncle Iroh would read the reports, turn away, and sigh. _Uncle always knew._

So, no, Azulon would not have named Ozai heir, and with good reason beyond his ill-mannered demand.

“So…you have to prove that Ozai wasn’t really supposed to be the Fire Lord? But how will it help? He’s the Fire Lord _now_.” The Avatar asks.

Zuko starts, drawn from his thoughts. “He is, but the Fire Lord doesn’t control everything. He’s the ultimate authority, but not the _only_ authority. The Fire Sages hold a _lot_ of power in the Fire Nation, if we can convince them that Ozai’s not meant to be on the throne, and convince the noble families that everything would be better if Uncle Iroh was….then I think we can depose him, without bloodshed.” Zuko sighs, running fingers through his hair and _tugging_. Not that Ozai would make it easy. If he caught a single hint of Zuko’s betrayal, suspected _anything_ , even for a _moment_ … _I’d be dead. He’d actually kill me this time_. “I hope.”

“So…if you depose Ozai, and Iroh becomes the Fire Lord… _he_ can stop the war.” Aang says faintly.

“He’s Uncle.” Zuko nods. “I know he will. It’s what’s best for our people.”

The airbender sort of…wilts. “So I wouldn’t have to…”

“To what?” Zuko asks.

“Save the world.” Aang looks up, eyes weary, smile weak.

Zuko wants to strangle somebody. “You’re twelve years old, Aang. Of course it’s not up to you to _save the world_.”

The avatar nods, taking that in and rocking back. His smiles wavers, and his shoulders shake, and he brings his hands up to hide his face as he starts _crying_.

Zuko panics. Quietly. Dithering, he eventually gets up and sort of…hovers. “Um…Aang?”

The airbender launches himself face first into Zuko’s stomach, and clings like a spider-monkey, tears soaking through his tunic. Zuko catches himself on the cot as he stumbles, and sits down heavily.

Awkwardly, he pats the Avatar on the back.

~


	10. Chapter 10

Zuko doesn’t want to leave the ship, and his reasons have nothing to do with his father.

There are people. A lot of people. _Everywhere_.

They’re crowding the docks, and he can see them lining the streets, there are paper lanterns, and ribbons strung from windows, and children running around with little sparklers.  He can see the teeming throngs of them dotted with members of the Home Guard, standing rigid in polished armor like stones in the river, all the other people swirling around them, channeled by their presence.

“Wow.” Aang leans over the railing on his tippy-toes. “They must have really missed you. That’s a _lot_ of people.”

“I don’t….” Why miss one marginal prince? Of all his family, he was the least remarkable… _Of all my family._ Zuko thinks. _I was gone. Uncle Iroh was gone._ Which left….Ozai, and _Azula_. Yes, his people probably missed him.

Which sort of gave him an idea of why Piandao of Shu Jing and his clan had been so generous. Without Zuko, Azula was the heir, and if that didn’t scare people, it should have.

His sister was _amazing_ , brilliant, and a prodigy, and sometimes, _sometimes_ she cared, in her own way. But she was still a monster.

“Your palanquin awaits, Prince Zuko.” Elder Sage Yamato said sternly. Zuko glanced back at the elder, who had not had a peaceful journey. Given his age, and his position within the temple at Shu Jing, he likely rarely travelled, and the sea had not agreed with him. Likely, he was more than ready to get off the wretched boat.

Zuko glanced down at their pier, and the awaiting Imperial Guards, and the servants, and the ornate golden box. “I am not riding in that!” Zuko said sharply, imaging already the vulnerability of such a position, how easily it might be overturned, and trap him. How it limited his sight, and ability to move, rendering him defenseless to an ambush. How flammable it was.

“It is not a Prince’s place to walk, like common rabble.” Yamato declares firmly.

“I am not going to let them carry me through the streets in a gilded box.” Zuko hisses, frayed nerves already unravelling at the sheer magnitude of the crowds. “It’s not safe! I just – Honorable Elder, I can’t.” Zuko shakes his head.

The Fire Sage studies him for a long moment, eyes piercing, lips twisted awry, and then nods. Zuko sags against the rail, ashamed, but relieved.

“Your uncle was much the same, his first return from combat.” The elder says, shocking the spirit out of him.

“Uncle Iroh?” Zuko sputtered, disbelieving. Yamato nods, casting a glance over the crowds.

“When he was a much younger man.” Yamato nods. “Before he became the Dragon of the West.”

Zuko takes a steadying breath. It helped, a little. “You knew him then?”

“I was one of his tutors.” Yamato admits. “Long ago. Among other things, it was I who endeared him to the merits of a good game of Pai Sho.”

Zuko groaned, and the elder smiled.

“He was not so taken with it then, as a young man.” Yamato adds. “It takes certain experience to truly appreciate certain arts. Excuse me, I shall have to adjust our arrangements with the Guards.” He bows, and departs to speak with Lieutenant Kotone.

“Monk Gyatso loved Pai Sho.” Aang says quietly. “He always won.”

Zuko looks down at the airbenders head, as he fiddles with the shackles returned to his wrists.

“Do you think your uncle would play a game with me?” Aang asks. “I’m not very good, but…I miss it.”

Zuko nods. “Yeah. I can arrange for that.”

“Prince Zuko!” Lieutenant Kotone rushes over a minute later. “Good news.” She bows quickly, and pops back up, spine as straight and strong as iron. “We’ve acquired the use of a pair of Komodo-rhinos. They’re being harnessed now, and we’ll be able to disembark shortly.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Zuko nods. She turns crisply on heel and marches back to her trio of unlikely comrades.

He looks back up the slope of the island, to the craggy edge of Caldera City.

_Home._

~


	11. Chapter 11

If the parade up the mountain had been energetic, it had been nothing compared to the outright boisterousness of that within the caldera itself. Streamers hung from every roof and ledge, lanterns bouncing on lines. Dragon kites soaring above them, and petals tossed from windows. The crowd was thick, tossing flowers and spilling sake before his entourage in small spirit offerings. Food vendors filled the streets with the smell of barbecue and noodles. More than one soldier held burning incense in his honor, and wives held ceremonial candles, and Firebenders bowed their heads, holding out palm-fulls of humble flames in offering.

Children laughed and scattered as his komodo-rhino yawned and snorted, and Guards saluted as they passed.

Zuko remembers his fathers coronation. The procession through streets full of people bowed low to the ground and prostrating. Candles had flickered wildly on window ledges, and the smell of incense had hung stale in the air, above a silent, unmoving population. It had been proper, and cold.

 _I’d rather have this._ Zuko thinks, even as another flame-juggler makes his teeth grind together, as he catches sight of it from the corner of his eye. He’ll learn not to fear his own people. He has to.

The Avatar rides beside him, on another mount, chains falling heavily from wrists and ankles, bound to the saddle. His head hangs down, and his tattoos stand out brightly, as do his orange and yellow robes. Some of the commoners had thrown wilted cabbage and rotten fruit at him, before Zuko’s guards put a stop to it, and it had quelled any curious excitement the airbender had felt about a new place, leaving only the dread of being dragged before the Fire Lord.

They dismount as they pass into the Palace compound itself, though the noise follows them until the great doors of the Fire Lords court seal shut behind them, blocking it out with the sun.

Flames hiss and crackle, obscuring his father behind a curtain of bright heat, and Zuko strides towards the shadow sitting up there, reaching out and putting one hand on the back of Aang’s neck to make sure he doesn’t bolt, facing the Fire Lord at last.

They stop a respectful, and comfortable, distance from the throne and flames to kneel, Zuko still keeping one hand on the back on the Avatars neck, holding him down, and still. The airbender shakes, the links of chain binding his wrists clinking in the stagnant silence.

Zuko himself takes a steadying breathe, glad that by keeping one hand on the avatar, he is not fully prostrated before the Fire Lord. It keeps him firmly in the present, and not trapped in a memory of the last time he knelt before the Fire Lord. Then, were there was fire, and pain.

Here, now, he takes a steadying breath, and waits.

There is a long, measuring silence. Behind him, one of the Fire Sages shifts, a soft ruffle of fabric on smooth floors. Flames snap and crackle.

“So.” Ozai’s voice almost hurts, breaking over the room. “My son has returned.”

Zuko tries not to panic, and reigns in any nervous impulse to speak until Ozai invites him to. He’s learned that lesson as well.

“Three long years, and you have captured the Avatar at last.” Ozai continues, and Zuko can hear him rising, standing up from the throne. “Congratulations, my son. Finally, you have regained your honor.” It’s practically a sneer.

Flames part, and Ozai steps down from the dias. Aang flinches, and Zuko’s fingers tighten, holding him still. _Don’t move._ Zuko thinks. _Don’t give him a target._

“I see you’ve also managed to lose your traitorous Uncle along the way.” Ozai says, moving to pace around them, like a shark its dinner. “Well done.”

Zuko sits up, staring straight ahead, and breathes. “The Dragon of the West is no traitor to the Fire Nation. He was old. He was slowing me down.” Zuko says. No lies. No weakness.

“My onmitsu say otherwise.” Ozai stops pacing, practically snarling. “Or would you call the failure of the Northern Invasion at his hand a mere accident?” Heat builds at Zuko’s back, making him sweat, but he does not turn to look at the Fire Lord, and he does not flinch. He cannot.

“It was no accident, but your spies do not know everything.” Zuko says steadily, watching flames still flicker on the dias, and praying to Agni that he wasn’t screwing up. “I was there. I bore witness. Admiral Zhao abandoned his men in the middle of the invasion. He snuck away from battle to break into a spiritual sanctuary within the North Pole itself. Did you see the moon turn red, father?” Zuko asks, spots dancing in his vision. _Agni, help me._

“I did.” Ozai hisses. “An unusual natural phenomenon-“

“There was nothing natural about what happened that night.” Zuko utters, scarcely daring to breathe, but he must. He _must_. In, slowly, and out.

“The spiritual sanctuary was a boundary, between the living world, and the spirit world, and it was here that the mortal forms of the Moon and Ocean resided, under the care of the waterbenders who worshipped them. And it was here that Admiral Zhao betrayed us.” Zuko declares.

“He attempted to murder the Moon herself. He struck La, and the world was washed with her blood. That is why the moon turned red. The _fool_ thought he would reign for the glory of being the Moonslayer.” Zuko snarled, deliberately vicious. If nothing else, Ozai would approve of his aggression. “As if we were not the children of islands and tides, as if his entire fleet did not rest in the palm of the ocean.”

Silence, save the flicker of flames.

“Our people died by the thousands because the Ocean, because _Tui himself_ took action, rose up, and drowned those ships by the dozens. And that rage only stopped because the Princess of the Northern Water Tribe was once blessed by La, and she gave her life so that the Great Spirit could be restored. Tui _allowed_ the remainder of the fleet to escape. And then he came for Admiral Zhao. And he _took_ him.” Zuko shuddered, at the memory, and continued.  “Zhao betrayed his men, by deserting them in battle. He betrayed our entire Nation, by committing to an action that would rouse the spirits themselves against our people. And he betrayed you, father, by abusing the command you honored him with, and using it to further his own ends.”

Zuko shakes his head. “Your spies claim the Dragon of the West a betrayer? Then they did not see him strike to defend our people from such _blasphemy_ , and they did not know that it was by his experience and wisdom that Princess Yue was even capable of giving life to La, and restoring the Great Spirit which balances the Ocean and Sun. Preventing the wrath of the spirits themselves from coming down on our people….is that not the duty of _every_ loyal lord?” Zuko finishes harshly, knuckles white where they rested on his knee.

“You expect me to believe in such fanciful tales?” Ozai sneered. “It was the _Avatar_ who wiped out the fleet. Of that, I have reports in the hundreds. This Avatar, here, and who was it that failed to stop him?”

No, Zuko did not expect Ozai to believe him. But that hadn’t been the point. Ozai didn’t believe in the influence of spirits, but the Sages? Oh, they _knew_. He could feel it, in the breaths held still behind him.

“The Avatar is the bridge between worlds.” Zuko said stiffly, trying to hide fear behind formality. “The Ocean possessed him, true, to act directly. But even without the Avatar, the Ocean would have acted, and our people will have died.”

And if Tui could not have had the ships responsible? He would have settled for the islands themselves. Tsunami’s backed by the fury of the Ocean itself? Zuko couldn’t comprehend such devastation. They’d been _lucky_.

“Perhaps.” Ozai growls.

Zuko bows his head, and Ozai continues to circle them.

Evntually, the Fire Lord scoffs. “You’ve been with Iroh too long, musing about spirits. No matter. You are young. Such frivolous influences will fade in time.”

Another Sage shifts, and Zuko tries to parse out his thoughts, in that uncomfortable adjustment. A Fire Lord was blessed by the spirits, by Agni himself, who endowed their line with the divine right to rule, who blessed their clan with powerful firebenders, tactical geniuses, and prodigies worthy of the throne.

Ozai was slipping, if he was careless enough to even hint at irreverence in the presence of the Sages. Careless, or arrogant.

Every Fire Lord in history paid homage to the spirits, and to Agni above all others. Even _Azula_ lit incense in his honor, and while his sister did not pray, per se, she would light a ceremonial flame every fall equinox, in honor of the dead, those lost in war, and she’d burn a paper wish for victory.

In times past, it had been a matter of great conflict between the Fire Lord and the Great Fire Sage, should the former fail to pay their proper respects. It had led to political turmoil, in the past, and in more than once instance, civil war, as the domains and noble families put their support and loyalties behind different leaders.

They were taught in history that when the Fire Islands had first become the Fire Nation, united under one loyal lord, that had been the first argument, which had threatened to split them back into individual domains again, between Fire Lord Zouge, and the then Great Sage, whose position would once have been called Fire Lord. Zouge had taken the title from the temples, and restructured their order to fit his new government. Blood was shed on both sides, for years, before Zouge’s successor, Fire Lord Kazue, had taken the throne after an attempt on Zouge’s life, one of many, had left him too ill to rule. The day she took the throne, she had walked into the temple, prostrated herself before the sacred flame and the Great Sage, and prayed for Agni’s blessing. The Sages say that the shrine had glowed gold, and that the gold dragon himself had appeared in the flames. Dragons do not speak in words, so none know what he shared with her, but the sages say that when Kazue opened her eyes, they were no longer as they had been. Like the dragons, they were a pure, burning gold.

Agni himself blessed our bloodline.

For the Fire Lord to even think of blasphemy…

Zuko blinks, and breathes, as his father steps back through the flames, and resumes his place on the throne.

“Have the avatar imprisoned.” Ozai commands. “So that he never again sees the light of day. Rise, Prince Zuko. Today, you have removed the last true obstacle to our absolute rule. Today, you have ensured our victory. I am so proud of you.”

Zuko stands, blinking at impassive flames. _I am so proud of you._ It’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear.

And he feels nothing.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the very least, there is a book 2 to this story, but it's not nearly ready to post yet, so.  
> I wanted to post book 1 to get some feedback and interest on the plot-lines, maybe some inspiration.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


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